Fire

White Wedding

"Do you have the cards and money?" your mom yells up the stairs.

"Yeah, honey, they are on t' table for the millionth time." Your Dad Yorkshire accent bellows back, slightly annoyed

"Well then, you don't have them do you?" She looks at her watch, "we're going to be late if you don't stop messing around with your tie knot!"

Your Dad grumbles, probably saying words he shouldn't, and finally comes down the stairs making a big show of picking up the cards and money and putting them in his jacket pocket.

He looks like a magician, overly expressive in his face and movements, especially with his suit tails.

You've been ready and waiting for about an hour. Your outfit had been prepared for weeks now.

It might have been the most fashionable piece of clothing you'd ever owned. It was essentially an opaque version of Madonna's boy toy dress. Where she had lace, you had satin, and of course, yours was not white. It was a light green. It had been one of the gifts for getting your grades back up to standard. Heartbreak can cause all sorts of things to lapse.

For you, it was studies, appearances and being social.

A wedding of someone you can't recall meeting sounded like a perfect event to test the Social waters again. If you wanted to leave earlier, no one would be upset or wonder where you were.

You double-checked your purse for the emergency pre-rolled joints you still had from your ex and a few cigarettes that were neatly hidden in a baggy wrapped in a lavender oil dotted handkerchief. Along with the battered old Zippo, you stole back from him. You'd given it to him as a present a few years ago, for camping, but ultimately it became more useful for other things.

You wondered if there would ever be a day you didn't think about Trent. It was kind of an impossible thing to keep going. He was a college already, and, well, college is a place full of all different types of opportunities, not like here.

You try to shake your head to get him out of your mind and immediately go and check your hair. It hadn't budged an inch because you'd sprayed it with so much hairspray. So it had more chance of snapping off than actually changing its shape.

You grab your keys and follow your parents out. Then, jumping in your canary yellow Toyota starlet, which though not brand new and super fancy, you absolutely adored because it was your tin can of freedom.

Making your own way there and back was a small price for your parents to pay to get you out of the pit of self-pity and heartbreak these last few weeks.

You follow the station wagon to the venue, but with your own choice of music. You felt it was a wedding, so Billy Idol made the most sense. You smiled at your own silliness.

Arriving at the venue, you parked up next to your folks. Thankfully it's not a whole church thing today, just a fancy hotel with a simple ceremony and reception party.

You hang to the sides of the room whilst your parents mingle, grabbing the odd hors d'oeuvre that passes by. The last little spinach puff you ate makes you concerned about things stuck in your teeth, so you find the nearest mirror and check quickly.

The mirror you find is one of those hugely wide-framed affairs. Its shiny gilded, ornate frame matches everything else in this little hallway.

You remember a mirror like this one at the country club. It's one of the few places Trent would actually go. He'd been going there his whole life, so it was his safe space.

After checking there was no greenery between your teeth, you move away only to suddenly become aware you aren't the only person using this mirror.

Your concentration and reminiscing must have blocked it out, but at the other end of the mirror is a man looking very stressed, saying blasphemous things through gritted teeth whilst he tries to wrestle a curl to slick back into his tied back hair, "Jesus, just stay put. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. " He says, trying again, the curl seeming to finally give in and slide in with the rest. He breathes a sigh of relief, and as he exhales, the curl pops out once again. He clenches his fists and eyes like he might explode with rage for a few seconds, letting out a quiet growl and then takes a breath to try again. The curl is defiant and refuses to be restrained with the others. He sighs deeply, "come on, man," he says to his reflection.

"Sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but do you need some help with that curl?" you offer. He's clearly something to do with the wedding, a navy tailored suit, the majority of his hair neatly arranged in a low bun, with the telltale signs of a gel and hair spray bullying the majority of other visible hair into place.

He nearly jumps out of his skin. He obviously hadn't noticed you either, "Arrgh...I mean...hi....sorry..yes. Hi", his tone from fearful to awkward and finally landing in confidence. "I am 2 seconds away from either undoing everything or ripping the chunk of hair from my head, so any help would be great," he says with eyebrows knitted together in dispair.

You reach into the back of your dark nest of hair and pluck out one of the many bobby pins which were redundant at this point, as your hair wouldn't move for the Hulk right now.

You hand it to him, "Here you go" you smile kindly, and he takes it from you.

He looks at the pin, back to you, and then back to the pin again.

"Oh, sorry I didn't explain. You pin the hair where you want it to go and then blast it with hair spray in the direction you want it to lie. Once that sets, you might be able to take the pin out if you are worried about it showing," you explain clearly.

He looks at you like he's translating what you just said to respond. Then, he squints and says, "Would you mind helping me do that?" Like he's bracing himself for a negative response.

"Not at all! Could you bend down a little?" You ask as you approach his side. It felt nice to be helping someone out. After all, you'd been in battles with your own hair plenty of times, and what you wouldn't have given for some help.

You gently take the rebel curl, pull it back into his hair, and pin it with the hairpin once in place. He hands you a can of hair spray. You shield his eyes and begin spraying the curl into submission.

Whilst waiting for it to dry to add another layer, he breaks your concentrating silence.

"I don't normally wear my hair this way, hence all the difficulty. I am capable of doing my own hair normally", he says jokingly with a sprinkling of nervousness, maybe a defence if you might see him as incompetent or something.

"Don't worry about it, I'm used to dealing with my own hair daily." You smile kindly at him in the mirror.

He returns your smile and says, "Maybe leave the pin in too, just in case. I promise I'll get it back to you after the ceremony and pictures."

"It's honestly ok. I have like hundreds. I lose them all the time," you say, giving a second spray and ensuring only the minimum of the bobby pin can be seen, "There you go."

You look closely at his face in the mirror, "Say, don't I know you? You seem so familiar, but I can't place you."

He looks at your reflection with surprise and then quickly picks up his things, "No ...I don't think we've ever met...and probably never will again. Just in town for this wedding, you know. Names Bruce...Osbourne", he hurries. Your internal lie detector is at red alert status, but as you aren't sure why they might lie about this, you just let it go.

"Well, good luck today...Bruce," you say as he leaves.

"Thanks, Tink!" He shouts back down the hall that he is busy zig-zagging down. He clearly can't remember the room he came out of.

You let out a small laugh when heading to the main room to find your parents. What a strange guy. Maybe your brain would place him later, or perhaps he just had one of those faces.